Impetus
by Ms Sticha
Summary: Commander Shepard finished the job she set out to do. She fired the Crucible to take out the Reapers knowing full-well it would cost her everything, including her life. But then she woke up. Could she adjust to 'normal? What was normal, anyway?
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This story was part of MEBB 2018. A big thank you to my artist Seo Kanori. You can find their amazing art on tumblr (including the beautiful pieces they did for this story)

I have to thank normandystarlight for agreeing to an initial beta even though she had more on her hands than any one person could manage.

I wouldn't be here without hawkeykirsah gently prodding me to continue writing and convincing me not to drop out. You're a true friend.

Most of all, thank you bioticsandheadshots for stepping in to beta once normandystarlight had to stop. You reminded me how much fun writing is, and I learned so much from your notes. You make me a better writer.

* * *

It was all over. Somehow, they'd accomplished the impossible: they made it to the Citadel and the Crucible had docked. There was nothing left to do but sit and wait for the same fate as the man at her side.

Shepard hazarded a quick glance in Anderson's direction. He'd always seemed larger than life, but now that illusion was completely shattered. He slumped over on himself, a victim of that final gunshot—her gunshot. She turned back to the cold darkness of space, tears welling in her eyes. That brief glimpse of him was all she could handle, the guilt heavy on her heart. It hurt too much, even though they'd both been prepared for this outcome.

Cold, unforgiving metal pressed the remaining shards of armor into the wounds on her backside and legs. The hard deck offered no comfort to her battle-damaged body, but that didn't matter at this point. There were so many wounds, so much blood and pain, and her support systems were toast. There was no way anyone would get to her in time. It would all be over soon enough, then she would join Anderson and everyone else that had been lost along the way. Nothing left to do but enjoy the view. But even the beauty of space held reminders of death and destruction. Debris from countless ships floated in front of her, a testament to how devastating their last push towards earth had been for so many.

Shepard leaned back into the platform behind them, cradled her stomach, and finally let herself grieve. "I'm so sorry, Kaidan." Echoes of their last moments, both their voices, thick with emotion, taunted her with what could've been. She promised to be waiting for him, but this was one promise she couldn't keep—no matter how much it broke her heart. This was one situation she couldn't stubborn her way out of. This was it.

And there was so much more lost than even Kaidan knew.

Thick rivulets of blood spilled down her bare forearm and dripped heavily to the floor, but the open wound on her side was mercifully numb. She wasn't concerned about it; her focus was on the flutters deeper within. Blood smeared with every move of her hand across her swollen stomach. It was so unfair. They came so close to getting through this together. Not just together… but with a future. Unplanned and unexpected as it was, _their_ future grew within her. She'd wanted desperately to share that fact with Kaidan, but she couldn't. Her death was going to be hard enough on the poor man; the full truth may very well kill him. This was one secret she had to take to her grave. Part of her was sure he'd figure it out on his own, then came that moment in the starboard observation deck… "Can you feel it Shepard? Feel the quickening?" he'd asked out of the blue. A small thrill shot through her as she turned to face him, to run into his arms and share the fleeting moments of joy, so sure he'd figured it out and even had the approximate dates right. He probably would've under normal circumstances, but nothing about this was normal. Normal was a luxury she didn't have.

What she wouldn't give for normal. Simple and quiet were afforded to others, not her. No, life as everyone knew it rested on her shoulders, and the weight of the responsibility crushed her heart. It was too much for one person to bear. She didn't seek this out; she never chose to be the saviour or whatever they were calling her. She just wanted to be happy with the man she loved. Shepard's eyes fluttered closed and she allowed herself a moment to dream of what could've been. She would trade almost anything for that little home filled with love and life…

"Shepard… Commander. Nothing's happening. The Crucible's not firing." Hackett's voice pulled her from the deepening dreams. "It's gotta be something on your end."

Even _dreams_ of normal were out of her reach. Duty called. The ground tilted under her feet and stars flashed in her eyes, but she pushed forward. The job wasn't complete. Shaky legs only held out for one step before she collapsed to her hands and knees. Her low, guttural groan filled the room. That's all she had the strength for. Using her one good arm, she crawled and pulled herself toward the console, leaving a snail's trail of blood in her wake.

Bones creaked and muscles strained as she pulled to standing. Upright, she almost felt like Shepard. Almost. She took a deep breath to finally reply, but her lungs spasmed uncontrollably. Shallow, dry coughs got progressively deeper and wetter by the second. She swayed dangerously. Only her death-grip on the console kept her upright. Every single breath was a gurgling struggle, as if a wet towel were wrapped around her head - her own personal waterboarding. She squinted through darkened vision, her hands sliding on the fine red spray that coated the console supporting her weight. That same dark blood also splattered on the glass in front of her, obscuring the debris surrounding the station. She had to work fast; her time was running out.

By some miracle she made it to the top of the crucible. Her choices lay before her, but her path was clear. Shepard had to destroy the Reapers. That was the only way to make sure this ended once and for all. She took a tentative step forward, eyes trained on the glowing platform at the end of the ramp. Fatigue curled around her muscles, each step as agonizingly slow and demanding as wading through waist-deep mud, but she trudged forward. Horrors of everything she'd survived so far flashed through her mind. London, a shattered wasteland. Husks overtook barriers as easily as ants climbed rocks. Her best friend and lover almost crushed by a tank launched into the air, certainly killing everyone within. These were all stark reminders of what was still at stake. Their buildings and technology were no match. Nobody was safe. It was all up to her.

She paused on the ramp for one last look at the beauty and wonder of the universe. It had been so long since she stopped to enjoy the view. Kaidan was right – it all seemed so calm and peaceful up here. You'd never expect the horrors taking place out there.

Shepard allowed herself one last moment to savor the life stirring within and lament that this was their fate, that both their lives had to be cut short to ensure a future for life itself. She was the only one left to see this through. Somehow she knew it always had to be her.

"I'm so sorry, sweetie," Shepard cooed between soft sobs, her hand cradling the tiny swell, "It's just you and me now. We have to save your daddy and everyone else out there."

Her gun wavered slightly in her cold hands, both arms long since numb from blood loss. The slight incline of the ramp was almost too much for her weakened body, but she stumbled forward. There was no room for failure. Stubbornness and resolve strengthened with each step, her aim true as she marched bravely in complete disregard of her grievous injuries. Adrenaline really was one hell of a powerful anesthetic. Explosions drowned everything out, but the gun recoiled with each shot. That meant her finger still pulled the trigger, even though she couldn't feel it. At least that was still working. She held on as long as her arm supported the weight, then flung it aside without a thought. Energy crackled along her skin and her hair stood on end. She was almost done.

Commander Shepard stood at the end of the ramp for just a fraction of a second before falling forward into a graceful swan dive. Electricity arced along her skin and her amp burned like fire as she disappeared into the blinding light.


	2. Chapter 2

Light—bright, white, and somehow terrifying—encompassed all. There was no escape. It burned through her eyelids until panic pierced her core. She tried to recoil but only managed a weak flinch, barely more than a facial tick. There had to be a way to break free, to block it out. No matter what she tried, she couldn't roll away or even cover her eyes. Her body refused to cooperate. The light was still there, still engulfing her even with her eyes squeezed shut as tightly as possible. Every breath came faster and shallower than the one before as she struggled, desperate for darkness.

Metal scraped on something hard. The shrill sound grew uncomfortably close, then stopped at her side. Whatever it was stood over her, each hesitant, shaky breath hot on her face. It smelled vaguely like cheese and beer, but she welcomed it. At this point it could smell like partially digested human flesh and she wouldn't mind as long as it continued to block out the damn light. She turned her head until shadows darkened both eyes.

A small gasp filled the room.

"Doctor, I think she's waking up!" a male voice rang out, trailing off as his heavy footfalls thundered out of the room. His voice was completely unfamiliar.

She found it impossible to know how long she'd been alone. Seconds? Days? Her body, in its effort to wake, consumed each second until they'd blended together in an indeterminable blob. Her brain, her limbs...every part of her struggled against the drugs circulating in her system, evident by the foggy numbness that she battled with for control. Even drugged to this extent, she knew her injuries must be bad—probably very bad—but, at this moment, all she felt was heaviness.

 _Slap, slap, slap._ The same ungraceful footsteps returned, but they were not alone. Several more people and a few carts with squeaky wheels rushed in behind like a sad but enthusiastic parade. She struggled to open her eyes to see the show.

"Relax, and don't try to move," a man soothed with practiced calm, "you're in the hospital. There was an accident."

'Accident'? That didn't sound right. She struggled to remember what landed her in this situation. Everything was fuzzy, but she was pretty sure it was no accident. One eye cracked open. Maybe the surroundings would help and some clue would snap everything into place.

A middle-aged man hovered over her so closely his stale coffee breath heated her chilled skin, watching her intently as several other people scurried around the bed. His eyes were tired yet kind, but they failed to hold her attention. How could they when his unkempt nose hairs danced with every breath?

A rough, dry hand gripped her chin. Bright light flashed in each eye and was over as soon as it began, but there was no stopping the fight or flight reflex. Hair stood on end, cold sweat beaded on her brow, and her breath shuddered as panic coursed through her. Blue and red circles filled her vision, the afterimages of the light momentarily blotting out the room no matter how much she blinked.

"Pupil dilation is normal," the man announced to the room at large as he slid the penlight back into his pocket.

"Heart rate spiked but is on its way back down," a woman responded from somewhere behind her. "Pulse ox is good, blood pressure normal," she continued, and the man nodded with each update.

"Good, good," he murmured as he pulled a chair up next to the bed and sat. "Do you remember how you got here?"

She tried to shake her head but her body wouldn't obey. "No," she croaked. That single word burned her throat like fire.

The man leaned back enough for her to finally see him properly. Old-fashioned glasses perched atop short grey hair, and his entire face wrinkled when he smiled compassionately, but something felt wrong. It took a few seconds to decide what it was. His clothes, the white coat over ill-fitting blue cotton top and matching blue pants, were like something from an old video or cheesy doctor drama. Not that she remembered anything specific at all, but it felt wrong. There was no reason to complain, though. They were clean and seemed to fit in with everything else. And they marked him clearly as the man in charge—most likely a doctor of some sort. His eyes never left her as she studied him, but he remained silent until the flurry of activity slowed and the other mystery players disappeared with soft footfalls and squeaky wheels.

Complete silence fell over the room. He leaned in slowly, conspiratorially. "Can you tell me what you _do_ remember?"

Her brow furrowed in concentration. The answer had to be somewhere in her foggy mind. There had to be something… anything. Tears welled in her eyes. It was blank. Everything was blank. No matter how hard she searched, all she could see in her mind was stars. Just empty space.

"It's ok," he soothed, "sometimes it takes awhile to get the mind working again." The doctor smiled and patted her arm as he stood.

She watched, helpless, as he turned his back to her. Something flitted through her mind. A large shape blotted out the stars. Deep, rumbling bass. A red flash. Terror. Pain. Acceptance. "Wait," she called out. "I remember! I'm Commander Shepard of the Systems Alliance…"

The doctor froze, then shot a concerned glance to the back corner of the room and shook his head. Another man appeared at her bedside in a flash, his grey eyes pleading as he took her hand. He spoke to her, but she couldn't focus on his words. All she could see was the large, puffy hand attached to her body. She followed the rounded arm up and gasped. This was not the svelte body of a soldier. Wide eyes searched the room desperately. This wasn't her. None of this was familiar. She didn't belong here. She tried to stand, tried to flee, but nothing happened. Was she paralyzed? Tied down? Were the drugs keeping her immobile? Panic set in. She twisted in the small hospital bed. Bile climbed her throat. Breath came in pants, quick and shallow. Machines behind her beeped and alarms blarred.

Everything was wrong.

Thundering footsteps ran down the hall towards the room. Outnumbered, with more reinforcements on the way, she had only a small chance to take out one or two before they restrained her, and even that wasn't looking likely. She lurched forward with all her strength, her head the only weapon at her disposal. A wet crack echoed through the room and the grey-eyed man screamed, clutching his nose as he fell to the floor. One down. Blood dripped into her eye; it was impossible to tell whose it was, and at the moment it really didn't matter. She blinked away the salty sting and lashed out at the nurse on her right, her teeth grazing the blue fabric. Burning pain filled her left hand and climbed her arm, like lava suddenly deciding to reverse course to climb the volcano for a change. Eyes wild, she searched for the source.

The doctor stood by her side. His hand pulled away slowly, the needle of the empty syringe glistening in the low light. Eventually he leaned over and smiled, every movement drawn out and jerky. "Everything will be ok, Rachel. Just relax." His voice was distorted, like a recording played in slow motion. "Your name is Rachel Johnson. You were in an automobile accident and have been in a coma. It'll come back to you eventually. Don't worry about anything right now, though. Just rest."

The world went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

A red beam of light tore through the darkness. The heat burned her exposed flesh as it gouged a jagged line in the road mere feet away. Debris rained down, the chunks of rock hot and sharp. Frustrated, a deep, guttural roar echoed off the crumbling walls from the front; high pitched shrieks and howls answered the call from the rear. The sounds came from every direction, enveloping her. She was surrounded. Cold jolts of panic coursed with each increasingly rapid heartbeat but her feet refused to move, her screams stuck in her throat. Fear controlled her body now. She squeezed her eyes closed tight.

Like a child hiding under the safety of a blanket, she was safe as long as she couldn't see the horrors. But she was no child. Closed eyes were no shield.

Moans, low and almost human-sounding, crawled along her spine just as fingers scraped along her flesh. There was no escape this time. A man cried out in the distance. Her eyes flew open, desperate to see him before the inevitable happened, but there were only shambling corpses. Clothing hung in tatters from the greying flesh, thick dark fluid congealed and crusted along long forgotten wounds. Sunken, lifeless eyes never strayed. She was all they saw. Tight skin twisted the once-human features into strange rictus grins that promised death and decay. They were here to deliver, and her violent shaking would not dissuade them. A corpse that used to be a woman pushed up against her chest until a clump of the dark matted hair snagged from the friction and tore free with a squelch. The figure pressed in close, maggots wiggling just under the surface of greyed eyes and lips. The air was unbreathable, poisoned by the pungent, yet almost cloyingly sweet smell of rot. Hands encircled her arms and squeezed, exposed bone slicing her flesh and rotted meat falling into the fresh wounds. Her fingers went cold.

"Shhhh, you're ok." A calming voice soothed over the dying echoes of a scream. "I noticed you were finally asleep so I tried to grab your blood pressure without waking you up. Apparently that was a bad choice so I won't do that again, I promise." The nurse smiled sympathetically, but it didn't mask the tinge of sadness. Maria had been there from the moment she woke up, so she was all too familiar with the entire situation. "I know all of this has been rough on you..."

The patient looked away from those dark searching eyes. There wasn't much else to focus on in the stark room. All the walls were the same neutral beige as the floors. The blinds were closed to offer the best sleeping environment possible in the middle of the day, which wasn't saying much. Hospitals were never known as the bastion of good sleep, with the constant influx of people checking on meds, pain levels, blood pressure, temperature, hunger levels, how thirsty you were, when you last used the facilities… it was almost as if the world would end if you got a solid hour alone. And on the off chance sleep actually did occur, well, that's when the nightmares started.

"It happened again, didn't it?" Maria asked without looking up from her charts. The answer was obvious. "What was it?"

The patient shrugged. "I don't really remember," she lied. The last thing she needed was another note in her file. It was probably a mile long at this point anyway. Besides, what would she say? ' _Same thing as every other time - I'm some space soldier and the walking dead were trying to get me as aliens and red lasers from the sky tried to beat them to it_ '? The psychologist would have a field day with that. No thanks.

"Fair enough. I never remember my dreams either." Maria busied herself checking the IV bags, scanning all the necessary orders, and taking the rest of her stats. "This should help calm you down," she said said as she eventually held out a small paper cup filled with pills of various sizes and shapes. "Need anything else before I go? I can turn the tv on so you're not staring at the walls."

"Hard pass. Daytime tv is society's unflushed toilet and my stress levels are high enough as it is."

"What, you don't want to find out who the baby daddy is? Or see a girl, her grandpa, and their dog fight over one unemployed middle aged man with greasy hair and three teeth? Where's your spirit of adventure?" Maria flashed a wicked smile. This was the reason they got along so well. "Something to look at is better than nothing," she said as she wandered over to the window and pulled the shades, exposing the startlingly unremarkable view, "but not by much. Try to get a little rest while you can. They'll be down to get you in about an hour."

The patient nodded and focused on the bleak landscape outside the window as the nurse left the room and paused outside her door. She and another nurse spoke rapidly in low tones, the consonants gentle, rolling, and clearly not english. She let the soft, melodic sounds roll over her as she studied the scene outside. Everything was as familiar as possible after weeks of the same view. The low buildings were the only transition between the grey sky and slightly less-grey land outside. The cars and stop lights were the only splashes of real color as the traffic flowed in a steady rhythm. She still didn't recognize it, though. She closed her eyes to fight back the familiar wave of desperation and let the nurses' gossip lull her as the pills took hold.

"Rise and shine, Captain. Your chariot awaits," the orderly greeted. He pushed the empty wheelchair into the room without waiting for an invitation. He was a large, generally good natured mountain of a man, and he'd become a constant presence.

She dreaded his arrival every single time.

"I know, I know… I interrupted your beauty sleep," he chuckled over her disapproving growl, "but Doc is waiting for you."

It was true that he'd interrupted the blissfully empty sleep, but that growl was aimed directly at the nickname he insisted on using. Word got out about her coma dreams and he was the only person unwilling to let it drop. She bristled every time he said captain, mainly because it just felt _wrong_. Tact and personal preference didn't seem to matter, since she explained this time and again using terms as simple and vague as possible, yet he persisted. He was probably trying to get a rise out of her at this point anyway, and there was no reason to take the bait. She'd somehow managed to stir up enough trouble as it was. The mood she was rocking told her another steaming batch of trouble would be served up soon, too. All it would take was one person throwing a little extra salt her direction. It was easier to bite her tongue for the short elevator ride.

The same could not be said about her session with Doc, though.

"Rachel, are you sure you don't remember anything before your accident?" Doc pressed gently. His smile was reassuring, but not convincing, and he tsked when she didn't respond immediately to the name.

They'd already been over this question at least four times since she'd been unceremoniously dropped into the cracking leather chair, but this was one area he refused to budge. It was a familiar struggle, one they had every single session. She closed her eyes and sighed. The name Rachel didn't feel right, like she was trying to squeeze into someone else's tailored suit, yet he insisted she wear it. This wasn't going to end until she accepted it.

"Surprisingly, the answer hasn't changed in the last five minutes," she grumbled. Regret hit the moment the words left her mouth. All it took was one raised eyebrow and a quick scribble into his notebook for her to know he was denoting her 'lack of ability to adjust' or however he was phrasing what he liked to call her 'little attitude issue'. "You're not the only one frustrated by all of this," Rachel sighed. She'd been a patient in this hospital for weeks, and that was just the time she could account for. This whole routine was starting to get old.

"Maybe we should work on your memory some more," he offered. He pulled the well-worn messenger bag onto the table and began to rifle through it.

"Look, I'm really not in the mood today. Can we just…"

"I don't recall asking about that," Doc replied with a wide, fake smile. "Now if you'd give me just a second…"

His insistence and blatant disregard for her feelings were the final nudge that pushed her over the edge. "Don't bother. Today's Wednesday, so you have the second set of cards and you do them backwards. That means the patterns are 753, plus sign, an animal that I'm pretty sure is supposed to be a cat but looks a hell of a lot more like some sort of cross between a fox, a pillow and LSD hallucinations…" Doc held up his hand, but there was no stopping now. The dam finally cracked and everything built up behind it was coming through one way or another. "Or we can focus on the people I'm supposed to know. Whatever. Try me. Hold up any picture and I can tell you exactly who it is and how I'm supposed to know them. Don't get me wrong—I don't recognize a single one of them emotionally, but I've memorized the faces and everything you've told me about them."

"Ok, you proved your point, but memory is not the only skill we work on." His voice was even. Detached. Clinical.

"Fine," she shot back, "want to focus on my attention to detail? I can do that too. You went out drinking last night, cheap beer by the smell of your sweat, picked up smoking again," she accused while pointing to the faint stains on the two fingers on his right hand, "and stayed out way too late. I'm guessing you got about 3 hours sleep from the size of those bags under your eyes. You woke up late enough that you cut yourself shaving and didn't realize it, and you're so hung-over you still haven't noticed that you misbuttoned your shirt."

The sudden silence practically rang between them, interrupted only by her ragged breaths. He watched her carefully as he scribbled in the notebook in his lap. Shit. That's twice this session. Normal was never noteworthy, so she really messed up if he was watching _and_ writing. Normal was the aim, after all. Her display had been anything but. And the yelling probably hadn't helped matters.

The silence became too much for her to bear. She took a shuddering breath and focused on her feet. There was no way she could look him in the eye after that. "Look, I keep trying. I'm doing everything I can, but nothing works. Everything before I woke up is just… gone. Like I didn't exist before this hospital."

"You're frustrated and angry. Those are natural reactions," he replied evenly.

"I don't even know what I'm supposed to know," she continued. "Was my memory always this good? Is my attention to detail normal? Have I always been able to…" her voice trailed off, but it was too late. The question had been burning in her mind for hours and his curiosity was piqued. Besides, it wasn't like she could freak him out any more. "I was starting to drift off this morning, not really focusing on anything in particular, when I realized I understood everything the nurses in the hall were saying. The thing is, my door was closed. And they were speaking spanish."

The pen clattered to the ground. Rachel looked up towards the sudden sound and immediately regretted it. Doc's gaze was too intent, his eyes too wide. It was like she was a lab rat that had just recited the hippocratic oath and he, the scientist, too afraid to say anything lest she drop down and start squeaking again.

"Are you going to say anything, Doc, or should I just call it a day and wheel my own happy ass back to my room to take a nap?"

He blinked slowly, gathering his wits. "And do you think you developed this ability from the aliens as well?"

"Uh… excuse me? Did you just say what I thought you did?" She laughed, but he didn't join in. Humor turned to confusion, followed closely by anger. How in the hell could a licensed professional actually dare turn things in this direction? She stared him down. A small, twisted part of her was interested to see where this crazy train was headed.

"The things you spoke of when you were waking up," he replied as he dug through her file. "You claimed you were aboard a spaceship called the SSV Normandy with several species of aliens, fighting a galactic threat… I made very detailed notes of the names, characteristics, and homeworlds of everything. These have really caused quite the stir in the community," he announced as he waved a page filled with tight script and rudimentary drawings. He set it aside and steepled his fingers in front of his face like every professional shrink seen on those crappy scripted shows, but it didn't work. His intent, almost psychotic gaze ruined the effect. "Let's discuss your accident. Was an alien abduction responsible?"


	4. Chapter 4

Clatters, clangs, and gruff shouts filled the air as much as, if not more than, the smell of cooking food. These were all integral parts of the restaurant life, and there was really no escape from any of it. As a result, breaks were never exactly peaceful. It made phone calls and personal conversations damn near impossible.

"Hi John, it's me again. I thought I might catch you on my break, but you must be busy. Thanks for dropping me off and taking my car to the shop. I'm sorry you had to get up early on your day off, though. So… uh... I guess I'll see you when I get off at 10. That should be early enough we can maybe do something special tonight. You know… if you want." Kitchen sounds filled the awkward pause as she struggled for the right way to end the message. They weren't really on 'I love you' grounds at the moment, but that was their standard send-off. "So… I guess I'll see you then."

Fingers hesitated over an image of the grey-eyed man smiling from the phone screen. He looked so happy, so in love. Back then he was excited to still have her; it didn't matter that, to her, he was a practical stranger. He won her over once, he most certainly could do it again. Only a couple of years had passed, but the difference was startling. Time had a funny way of making small, unnoticeable changes over days and weeks, then one day you woke up and realized how completely different something or someone was. The physical changes were subtle; his blonde hair was a little darker, his face a little thinner, his once freshly-broken nose now a familiar defining bump. The real change lay within those steel grey eyes that first welcomed her back. They were dull and indifferent on the rare occasion they even looked her way.

"No answer again?" Sarah asked between gulps of soda. She was young and had only worked at the restaurant for a couple months or so, but they'd already become fast friends. She also seemed to have a preternatural ability to see through people's bullshit, so there was no point in lying to her. "Do you think he remembers why you would want to do something special?" she asked, the subtle skepticism barely hiding her obvious disapproval. "Happy unbirthday, by the way."

Rachel Johnson was three years old to the day. That's how she liked to see it, at least, since that was when life as she knew it began. There had to be something before that—her thirty-something-year-old body was proof enough. Every fine line and faded scar told a tale but they were all stories written in a different book. Everything before she woke up in the hospital was still dark; no matter how many doctors she saw, how many photographs she studied, or how many stories she listened to, nothing was there.

Despite all of this she managed to create a normal life for herself, falling into a routine so basic it was almost mind-numbing. She got up, grabbed some unhealthy prepackaged foods as she ran out the door, worked all day, returned to a messy home too tired to actually clean, then went to bed with her back to a person she rarely touched. Each night, she fell asleep with silent promises on her lips: the exercise program, the diet, the hunt for a more fulfilling job; it always started tomorrow.

She was normal. Just an average woman trying to make her way in the world. It wasn't glamorous, or even particularly fun, but life was familiar.

A shrill bell rang. "Nineteen's up," the cook shouted without looking up.

Rachel tucked the loose strands of red hair behind her ears and washed her hands. Breaktime was over. Though it was often boring, she was good at her job. She had some innate ability to predict people's needs, to hear them talk about what they wanted before they had a chance to ask. Refills were on the table before the cups were empty, bills and takeout boxes on the table as soon as the forks were set aside. It was definitely not a challenging or rewarding job, but at least the tips were good.

That wasn't going to be the case tonight. It was the local high school's homecoming dance so the restaurant was packed and understaffed. She gathered some of the plates and arranged them on a tray, then pushed through the swinging kitchen door. A busboy was kind enough to gather the rest and follow in her wake.

"Um, excuse me," an impatient middle aged man shouted at her as she rushed by.

"I'll be back with you in just a moment," she called over her shoulder as cheerily as she could fake under the circumstances. It wasn't like he was going to starve to death if he didn't get another basket of free dinner rolls within the next two minutes. Or two weeks, based on the way his shirt buttons screamed for mercy. She nodded politely at the young family at the next table, ignoring the perfect storm of mess caused by the kids while their mom pointedly clattered her ice around in an otherwise empty cup. "Your diet Coke is on the way, ma'am." It wasn't as if her arms were practically buckling under a tray or anything.

"Sorry about the wait," Rachel apologized as she set the tray down and slid heaping plates on the table, pausing just long enough for the busboy to set the second tray down and leave.

"About time," one of the well dressed teens muttered loud enough to be heard over the din. He lifted the top bun and eyed his burger. "Did they have to go out to the farm and butcher the cow?"

"Maybe she ate the first one," his date whispered a little too loudly. That's all it took. Loud laughs and snarky remarks about Rachel's appearance and perceived intelligence (or lack thereof) filled the table as she quietly delivered the rest of their meals. They may be dressed as fancy adults, but they all still had a hell of a lot of growing up to do that had nothing to do with their spotty complexions and shiny braces.

The dark haired boy at the end of the table was the only member of the large, boisterous group who didn't join in with the shenanigans. Instead, he watched her intently through thick glasses. "Do I know you from somewhere?" he finally asked as she set his plate down.

"Not sure," Rachel replied. "I've worked here for the past couple years, so you've probably seen me before if you come here often." She tried to smile, but it took more effort than this table was worth. She shrugged when the boy shook his head. Honestly, she didn't care enough to pursue the matter so she kept busting ass to get away from the table as soon as possible.

"Oh, I got it," the boy shouted as she gathered the tray and turned. "She was on that show 'Creepy Mysteries of the Weird'." Most of the table didn't hear over their own conversations, but the two people on either side of him snickered.

Rachel pretended not to hear. Cold sweat slid down her spine, but she kept her face neutral and walked away as quickly as possible without rousing suspicion.

"You look pale." Sarah said the moment she saw her. "Don't let those little shits get to you," she whispered so the other patrons wouldn't overhear. Her voice got louder the second they entered the kitchen, mainly out of necessity. "This is probably the first time they've been allowed outside without a keeper. Besides, they wouldn't know a decent person if one hit them upside the head. And I just might if they keep it up."

"I can handle rude remarks. I've been working with the unwashed masses long enough to have pretty thick skin by now." Rachel avoided looking Sarah in the eye. She'd know something was wrong immediately, and that was a discussion Rachel wasn't ready for. Instead, she kept her head down while she scrambled to get refills for the young family and another bread basket for the middle aged couple. She was counting on them for good tips, because she sure as shit knew the unruly mob of teens wouldn't be generous based on their previous performance.

The rest of the evening went basically as assumed. The teens disappeared shortly after their second warning to keep things appropriate for a family establishment, leaving a large mess and a small pile of coins at the bottom of a full glass—the only thanks she got for taking care of their ungrateful asses. The rest of her tips were fairly decent. Of course, she worked her ass off and endured far more than most people should. It was amazing how many people thought servers were beneath them, like second class citizens, if that. It was also startling how many men assumed a little politeness and a quick smile was an invitation for flirtation bordering on sexual harassment. Apparently this was supposed to be a huge honor for a "thick" girl. How generous of them. At least the night was almost done. And she'd managed to avoid Sarah and any uncomfortable questions she probably had.

Things were finally winding down. There were only a handful of tables left, and the full tray balanced on her shoulder with practiced ease was her last order of the night. The end was in sight. A few tables away from her destination her luck caught up with her. A small child darted between chairs and ran right into her. Rachel was a solid woman, so the collision didn't knock her over or anything, but momentum was inescapable. The tray kept right on going, heading directly for the sobbing boy on the floor.

Acting purely on instinct, she lunged forward and swung the tray backwards with all her might. She twisted to pull the contents into her chest while completely avoiding the child with the graceful agility of a professional dancer, and her reward was the hot, damp cloth that clung to her body as food slid down her front.

Plates and bowls shattered on the floor around her while a frazzled mother swept the uninjured boy into her arms, pausing just long enough to offer a withering glare. _Because it's somehow_ **my** _fault the little demon was running around unattended this late at night_. No apologies for the mess, no thanks for sacrificing herself and the food, no amazement at her almost magic ability to snag the tray from midair and keep the steaming contents from hitting the kid. Some people.

Rachel escaped to the bathroom and surveyed the damage while Sarah and the manager on duty took care of everything else. She sighed at the pitiful creature reflected in the mirror. Flickering fluorescent lights greyed her already pale skin and highlighted the purple bags under her eyes, and her slightly greasy hair looked almost brown pulled back into a ponytail. The clumps of food sliding down her rounded cheeks were just the gooey icing on the cake and really tied the whole look together. Yup, this was her life. It had taken a long time for her to accept, but the same person looked back in the mirror every morning so it had to be true.

Crappy upbeat music and fake flowers filling the room did little to lift her spirits as she tried to wash the embarrassment away with the food. She turned the tap on full blast and went to work, but water and cheap paper towels could only do so much. The scars on her eyebrow and lip puckered as she scowled at her reflection and pulled a damp paper towel across her throat. She focused on the bright green eyes staring back at her as she worked. _Those_ were real. They were always hers. Her focus deepened until those eyes were all she saw. Darkness closed in. The sound of running water morphed into a hiss. The melody of the random song died away, the soft bass subtly merging with the beat of her heart until that was all there was aside from her ragged gasps. Nothing else existed besides darkness and pain. She couldn't move. She couldn't escape.

A sharp bang echoed through the room. Everything instantly shifted back to normal.

"Hey Rachel, there's a couple people here…" Sarah stopped when her foot splashed in standing water. Her dark eyes were wide, concerned. "Um… Are you alright?"

Rachel blinked several times to clear the hallucination remnants, but the sound remained. She looked around, confused, and realized every inch of her clothing clung to her, cold and wet. The tap blasted full force while a single paper towel covered the drain, forgotten, allowing water to flow freely over the edge of the sink, soaking everything in the process.

"Rachel," Sarah approached cautiously and reached out. "You're shaking."

"It's nothing. I just got light-headed and must've zoned out for a minute." Rachel turned off the water and made a half-assed attempt to clean up her disaster area as if this was an everyday occurrence. Normal was the goal, after all. "So, who's here for me?"

Sarah's jaw dropped. "You need to go home." It wasn't a question. There wasn't going to be any arguments on this one. "You can't go out there like this, even if you weren't scaring the crap out of me. Which you are, by the way."

"But you said someone was here for me…"

"Yeah, and there's no way in hell I'm letting you out to see them." Sarah blocked the door as best her petite frame would allow. "It's a couple of guys. One has a professional looking camera..." Her eyes narrowed in a mix of suspicion and concern, and searched her friend's face as she spoke. "And they say they're paranormal researchers."


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel shivered uncontrollably. The cranked heat blasted her skin until it burned to the touch, but it wasn't enough. This chill was bone deep.

"Ready to tell me what's going on?" Sarah asked. The silence stretched between them. She nodded slowly in the dim light of the streetlights overhead, her eyes never leaving the street. "I take that as a no."

Rachel shifted uncomfortably, her wet clothes squeaking against the pleather seats. She owed Sarah, but there were some things she just didn't talk about. This was one of them. "Thanks for the ride home," she said quietly, "and sneaking me out through the kitchen. I don't know what I would've done…"

"I couldn't just leave you like that. But what happened to John?" Sarah asked. "I figured he would pick you up." Her concern was sincere, but so was the underlying displeasure. This was one area she'd been subtly nudging her friend for almost as long as she'd known her.

"No idea," Rachel admitted. "He was supposed to pick me up when I got off work, but he didn't answer his phone." She stared out the window rather than risk any form of eye contact—she couldn't stand to see the pity mixed with a little bit of 'I told you so'—but all it did was reflect her own misery right back to her.

It was a complicated mess. John was the only one waiting at her bedside when she woke up from her coma. He stood by her even though she'd shattered his nose with a headbutt the moment she woke up. He took her in when she was released from the hospital with nowhere else to go, despite the fact that she still didn't recognize him. He had to be a good man if she'd agreed to marry him… before. The ring and the pictures didn't lie. He even vowed to do everything in his power to make her fall in love with him all over again. But that had been three years ago. It was starting to look like they'd both given up on that idea and neither wanted to admit it.

"You can come stay with me if you want. My oldest sister is on active duty so I have an open bed and everything." Sarah glanced over at the shivering woman in the passenger seat. "Ok, you don't want to talk about that either," she added as the silence became too oppressive once again. She could've turned on the radio and just let it be, but that wasn't her style. "Will you at least tell me the truth about what happened in the bathroom? There's no way you just spaced out long enough to flood the entire room."

A few houses from their destination, Rachel turned toward her friend. The question could easily be ignored until she could escape the confines of the vehicle, but Sarah deserved more than that; she was a good friend and could be trusted. Honestly, Rachel needed to share this burden before it dragged her down completely. "I had a panic attack," she whispered, "and this was a bad one. Nothing but dread and darkness and me."

Long grass and weeds brushed along the car as Sarah pulled up the gravel drive and parked in front of the dark house. "Do you get them often?"

"Mild ones, yeah. Doctors think it has something to do with PTSD from my accident or amnesia or whatever else they can blame without spending too much time working on a more specific diagnosis. Big ones like this, though…" Rachel sighed. There was only one way to get Sarah to fully understand the whole truth. "Do you have a few minutes? I want to show you something."

The house was a mess. The casual observer would probably assume they'd been robbed or ransacked, but Rachel knew better. The tell-tale smell of slightly stale smoke and cans all over the coffee table was all the proof she needed. "Sorry about the mess. Apparently John had friends over." She didn't wait for Sarah to make a comment. There was nothing she could say that Rachel wasn't already thinking. Instead, she led the way to a room tucked into the back corner of the house.

"Wow, you really like blue," Sarah said the moment the door opened. That was an understatement. The makeshift office was painted a deep royal blue, the curtains were a light electric blue, and a fluorescent blue clock hung on the wall. There were even glow in the dark stars and galaxies on the walls and ceiling, but those weren't visible at the moment. All the furniture was black and white, the bright yellow office chair the only other splash of color. "I don't get it. I've only ever seen you wear black and red."

"I guess it's just one of my quirks." Her casual shrug felt forced, and in that moment Rachel realized it wasn't necessary. She might as well tell Sarah the truth about this since she was going to learn the really bad stuff in just a few minutes. "I had a lot of dreams about this color after I first woke up. It took awhile for me to realize there was a person wearing the color. For some reason, it felt so important that I couldn't shake it. No idea who the person is, though. Never saw anyone that looks like him."

"Him?" Sarah asked with that teasing glint only a sister can perfect.

"Not a real person, nothing to see here. Anyway, that's not why I brought you back here." Rachel reached over Sarah's head and pulled a binder from one of the cabinets. She held it to her chest as she looked at her friend closely. "One of the kids at that hell table tonight said he recognized me, and he eventually figured out why. I'd be willing to bet good money he tipped off the camera guys. To be honest, I was kinda waiting for something like this anyway. It's that time of year, after all. The nut-jobs always seem come out of the woodwork around Halloween." She handed the binder over without answering the questioning look. It would explain everything.

Rachel left Sarah to read all of the crappy stories, tv show recaps, and news briefs written about her over the past three years. All it took was that one crazy doctor leaking her story to get every sub-par journalist and tin-foil-hat wearing mouth-breather interested, and it seemed like each story was more fantastical than the last. Like it or not, Rachel was the alien abductee no matter what she said. The fact that they appeared at her work meant it was only a matter of time before they showed up at her home.

Nervous energy bordering on anxiety welled up inside until it was almost unbearable. She'd either break down or have another panic attack if she just stood there watching her friend read all the lies. She had to do something to keep busy, to keep everything from overwhelming her. She wandered away without a word and tried to watch a show but the thoughts persisted. It was too passive—she needed to do something that required every part of her. Her gaze dropped to the mess littering the coffee table and she knew she'd found her distraction.

The living room was almost presentable when headlights flashed into the windows. Rachel gathered her nerve and steeled herself for whoever made their way to the front door. The heavy stride stopped on the top step. Seconds stretched as Rachel held her breath in expectation, but nothing happened. She let out a soft, shaking sigh. Maybe her overactive mind had created those details to meet her expectations. This was one time she'd prefer a wonky brain to the alternative. A series of soft raps destroyed that small glimmer of hope. It would've been damn handy if John had installed a door with a peephole like she'd asked, but that was just one more thing on the list. Like the dishes piled up in the sink. And the grass tall enough to lose a small child. She held her breath and cracked the door open.

"I hoped you were still up," John said sheepishly. He waved to someone in the darkness and a car disappeared back down the drive. "I forgot to grab the house key when I dropped your car off."

Rachel nodded and held the door open. John brushed past and flopped on the couch, neither of them addressing the fact that the story didn't really add up. It was easier than fighting. She disappeared into the kitchen for a beer, unable to look at John and stay calm.

"Can you toss me one of those," he called from the other room the moment her bottle cap hit the counter.

She took several large gulps, set the bottle on the counter, and started doing dishes loudly enough to drown out anything he could say. He could get his own damn beer.

"Hey, what's wrong?" John laid a tentative hand on her shoulder, ignoring the way she tensed under his touch. "You don't have to do those. I said I would."

"Three days ago," she muttered under her breath. She was tired and raw, in no position to have this fight, but her defenses were also so low that there was no way she could stop it now. "Where the hell were you?" she blurted. "You were supposed to pick me up, but you were nowhere to be found. I practically blew up your phone and you didn't even bother to respond."

"I was dropping your car off…"

"No. We both know that's complete bullshit. Try again. The shop isn't open this late and I know you hadn't been gone long when I got home. Two beers on the table were still chilled." She started shaking when the implications hit home. Two. There was only one other person here with him. "I really needed you tonight and you weren't there." Her voice quivered with emotion.

John froze like a deer in headlights.

"Are you ok, Rae?" Sarah asked hesitantly as she rounded the corner. "I can help however you want. The offer still stands."

Realization dawned across John's face as he looked between Rachel and the familiar binder in Sarah's hands. "They found you again?" There was a hint of emotion to his voice that had been absent for months. He stepped closer and pulled her into a tight embrace. "I'm so sorry. I should've been there."

Rachel melted into his arms. She wanted to fight it, wanted to confront him about the lingering smell of perfume on his shirt, but there was nothing left. This small comfort was all she had.

John let go first. He held Rachel at arm's length and really looked into her eyes for the first time in a long time. "Let me take you away until things die down." His smile faded slightly as emotions flickered across her face, but it didn't deter him. "You name the place and I'll handle the rest."

Rachel glanced over at her friend who was doing her best to disappear into the background, but Sarah merely shrugged. This was not her decision to make.

"Ok," Rachel finally responded. "Let's go to Canada."

John chuckled, but the deep rumble faded quickly. "Wait, you're serious? What's in Canada?"

"I don't know," Rachel admitted, "but I feel like it's something important."


	6. Chapter 6

Blue stretched as far as the eye could see. It was her favorite color, but even Rachel could only handle so much. The unfathomable vastness made her feel even smaller and more insignificant than usual, and it was all that had been visible through the airplane window for the last several hours. Not that she could see much over John's shoulder.

They could've been to their destination twice over if they'd gone to Vancouver like she'd wanted. Instead, the night before their flight, John revealed their actual destination as they packed. She scowled and told him his joke wasn't funny, but he didn't laugh. The moment she realized he was serious she calmly pointed out all the time spent creating the perfect itinerary. Each word was louder than the last as she continued, pointing out all the money she'd already spent on reservations, until she eventually screamed that he promised it was her choice. Smiling like a parent to an unreasonable child, he reminded her that he'd been the one to buy the tickets and his choice was much better than some cold wasteland with nothing but moose, hockey, and syrup. His mind was made up and the tickets were in hand. And that was how she found herself in an aisle seat on the way to Hawaii. Rather than fight about it for the entire trip, Rachel decided to make the best of the situation and lounged in her seat determined to enjoy the ride.

John watched her intently. "I can't believe you're handling this so well," he said in quiet amazement. "You always hated flying."

Everyone made such a big deal about her anxiety issues for her first flight since the accident, going so far as to overly prepare her for every single detail. Her doctor even prescribed crazy-strong meds, but there was no need. Calm washed over her the moment the engines revved up. Somehow, for some reason, Rachel felt like she was home. This was the most relaxed she'd been in ages.

"I guess that was the old me," she responded. "That person doesn't exist anymore."

"Yeah, I know."

Her stomach dropped and anxiety finally started nibbling along the edges of her mind. All the pain and regret in those three simple words took her breath away and it was difficult to catch it again as the weight of the implications sat heavily on her chest. Everything became clear in that one moment. "You stayed all these years just waiting for the old Rachel back, didn't you?" She didn't need him to respond to know the truth. Her muscles tightened and vibrated as if waiting to spring into action, her jaw clenching until it ached. She looked down at her hands in her lap, the knuckles white from squeezing them together. She had to relax before she spun herself into a full-blown panic attack. That tended to make rational discussions impossible. Eyes closed, she took slow, steady breaths until she was able to release her hands. A shiver crawled her spine, but she wasn't cold. Nerves, adrenaline, and anxiety mixed into a potent stew of discomfort, but this had to be said. Thing weren't going to get better if she continued to pretend. "That's not going to happen. I've tried everything I can to be the person from before, but she's just not there. This person next to you… me… I'm the only Rachel there is now. You have to decide if that's something you can live with."

A cold knot formed in the center of her chest as silence stretched between them, his eyes never wavering from the phone in his hand. Her muscles tensed until a dull ache climbed the base of her skull. Shaking, she tried to reach out, to make him face her, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was the last shreds of her dignity, or possibly the realization that he may not actually love her at all, but either way she couldn't bring herself to make the first move after laying it all out like that. She pulled her hand back, her face carefully neutral, and excused herself for the lavatory. Every second spent sitting still next to him wore her down mentally and sent her closer to the edge. She maintained composure as she walked the aisle, but the dam broke the second the lock slid into place. All the loneliness, fear, and heartache flooded from her body in hot tears and soft sobs. The smelly, claustrophobic room became her refuge as she allowed herself to mourn everything that was and could've been.

Anyone who said having a simple, normal life was easy… well, they were goddamn liars. Almost every facet of her being was dependent on someone else, right down to the very essence of _her_ before 3 years ago. Rachel leaned against the sink and splashed water on her face, but it wasn't enough. The damage was done and simple coping mechanisms were like trying to stop a flood with bare hands at this point. Darkness closed in. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears, erratic and faint. She was losing control. There was only one solution at this point. She dug blindly through her pocket, clasping the small pill, which she shoved into her mouth and swallowed dry. The darkness slowly faded and everything came back into focus as she focused on slow, deep breaths in the airplane restroom. This was one hell of a start to their trip.

"I haven't been fair to you," John said quietly the moment Rachel sat back down. "You deserve someone who loves you for who you are now, and I'd like to try to be that person."

Rachel stared at him through glassy eyes. It wasn't exactly a romantic soliloquy, but it was better than he'd offered in years. She might've cared more if she wasn't drugged out of her gourd. At least it gave them something to work on over the vacation.


	7. Chapter 7

Vacation seemed to be just the thing the doctor ordered. For the first time in her memory, Rachel could actually relax. She was free of her constant stressors, tight schedule, and threats of creeps with recording equipment and crazy theories.

Though it had only been a day, she and John were already working on their relationship. Spending time together and actually communicating were big steps in the right direction. It didn't hurt that their responsibilities and real life were thousands of miles away, but maybe that change in scenery was the push it took to start breaking down the walls they'd both built up over the last few years. Rachel was willing to let go of the resentment as long as John was willing to let go of unrealistic expectations. Actually, come to think of it, both of them had probably developed some pretty unrealistic expectations and that wasn't helping anyone. John wanted someone who used to exist, and Rachel wanted someone who never had. It wasn't fair for her to expect him to accept her when she wanted him to become some soft-spoken, sensitive man that he never was. Apparently that man would only ever exist in her dreams.

As part of his efforts to be a better husband, John set up a special surprise for Rachel. He wouldn't give her any hints, even going so far as to blindfold her as they loaded into the hotel shuttle. Though she would have enjoyed seeing the natural beauty surrounding them, there would be plenty of sightseeing in the days to come. Her disappointment at the lost opportunity paled in comparison to the thrill and appreciation for John's thoughtfulness.

"Are we almost there?" Rachel had forgotten to eat breakfast and her stomach loudly reminded her of that fact. She leaned heavily into John as the driver took yet another curve fast enough to throw her off balance. The entire trip had been this way.

"You sound like a kid," John chuckled. "Just be patient. It'll be worth it, I promise." His phone dinged for what felt like the hundredth time since leaving the hotel, and he sighed heavily.

"Can I at least take off the blindfold? It's hot. Besides, I won't have any idea where we are anyway. I've never been here before, remember?" Rachel wiped the moisture from one brow and waited, but John didn't respond. "Everything ok?"

"Hmmm? Oh… yeah. Everything's fine. It's just work." His slow answer was punctuated by gentle taps on his phone. He was so busy texting he almost forgot to answer her.

Rachel frowned. John didn't have the type of job that required constant contact. In fact, she couldn't remember a single time work called after hours. Something was wrong with this situation. She slowly reached up to lift one corner of the blindfold when the shuttle came to a screeching halt.

"Ok antsy pants, we're here," John announced. He playfully smacked her hand away from the blindfold and took it in his own to guide her out of the vehicle and through what sounded like a very large crowd full of so many different languages.

It was hard to make anything from the cacophony of voices, but a few words stood out. _Beautiful. Swim. Tired. Hungry. Fish._ Those all sounded pretty standard for any tourist on the island. She smiled self-consciously when she heard a few people remark on her unusual situation.

"Stand here," John directed her as he made subtle adjustments to her position. His fingers gently curled around the elastic circling her head. "Ready? Three, two, one…"

A bright light flashed the moment her face was free. Rachel blinked several times as the world came back into focus. A small young woman with a toothy grinned stared back from the other side of a camera. Crowds of people milled about, pausing in front of walls of glass to point at colorful creatures within. Behind them was a screen filled with technicolor fishes and a large logo.

"An aquarium…"

"Yup." John puffed out his chest and smiled triumphantly. "You always loved fish and we used to dream about the day we could afford a saltwater tank, so I figured this would be the next best thing."

Rachel's wide smile masked the wrenching pain in her chest. She'd been such a fool to believe, to allow herself to get swept up in the romantic environment. Even after their discussion, after all those promises, he was still stuck on who she used to be. And she had to discover this in front of an ever-increasing crowd, their murmurs of anticipation bubbling like the fish tanks surrounding them. Rachel grabbed her purse strap and held on for dear life, her arm shaking from hugging herself so tightly. It was her only source of comfort. Her eyes burned as she scanned the surroundings for a way out of the incredibly awkward situation, be it an emergency exit, a small hole she could jump into, a fire alarm she could pull… something, _anything_ to escape. The photographer smiled patiently as a long line formed behind them. So many eyes focused on her, waiting for a reaction. Resentment twisted the knife deeper in her chest until her self-loathing and pain were almost unbearable, but she couldn't let it show. She was stuck with John for the next week no matter what.

There was no other way out.

Rachel lunged forward, gave John a long hug, and kissed him on his smooth cheek despite the overwhelming natural instinct to recoil. Her forced chuckle of joy belied the true nature of the authentic tears glistening along her lower lashes, which seemed to satisfy the crowd. Wide grins accompanied by soft oohs and aahs filled the air around them and John's spine straightened, his chest puffing with pride as he bathed in the accolades. He didn't give her a second look as he tucked her under his arm and escorted her in.

None of this was about her.

John led her through the aquarium so fast she struggled to keep up. They stopped in front of every tank long enough for him to rattle off facts about each specimen within, his knowledge surprisingly encyclopedic. Or he could've been shoveling pure bullshit for as much as she knew. She barely had time to find the creatures behind the glass, let alone read the plaques next to each tank to verify what he was saying. It was nice to see him so excited about something, but she just couldn't match his enthusiasm. At least his knack of rushing through everything was consistent, so they wouldn't be there long. She'd just ride it out until he was done, like usual.

"You've been awfully quiet," John finally said as they entered a new hall. He watched her closely until she shifted under his gaze. "Look, I was just trying to do something nice for you," he snapped.

"I know, and I really appreciate it," Rachel responded honestly. She did appreciate the effort, but not his misguided attempt to once again uncover the old Rachel. There was no use in explaining it, though; the distinction would be lost to him. She went with a half-truth. "I'm just hungry. I forgot to eat breakfast."

His tense shoulders relaxed slightly, but his lips remained pursed. "How can you forget to eat?" He shook his head and chuckled. "You're ridiculous sometimes. We'll get lunch after this, I promise."

The next area was a marked improvement. Rachel realized she was only punishing herself, so she slowed down to really look at the inhabitants. Some of the fish were amazingly beautiful, with vibrant colors and majestic movements. A few of the more brightly colored ones, such as the flame angelfish and bicolor parrotfish, really caught her eye. One particular fish stole her heart, though - the palette surgeonfish with its deep blues and bright yellow tail. She lingered outside that tank while complicated feelings stirred within. They weren't memories, per se, but more suggestions of feelings. And none of them related to John. He must've sensed that, because he started tugging her arm impatiently.

There was no point in fighting it; this excursion wasn't really about her. They paused in front of each tank at the speed he chose, and moved on when he was ready. Her attempts to do otherwise just frustrated him.

Well that was just too damn bad.

"Wait," Rachel said, pulling her hand from his. She slowly approached the next tank, transfixed. The neon lights within slowly shifted, and the floating creatures glowed with each new color. Their ethereal beauty was mesmerizing, but something about them drew her near. She just couldn't figure out what. She gasped when the color flashed again. It was the pink. Something about the pink jellyfish…

"Really? Jellyfish?" he scoffed. "You've always hated them, said they looked like dangerous snot balls."

This was not the first time Rachel cringed when reminded of who she used to be. Though a little regret was common for everyone as they matured, Rachel had the distinct impression she wouldn't like her old self very much had they been able to meet face to face. She didn't sound like a nice person. Or very smart.

"I thought you said you were hungry." John pulled at her hand like a parent trying to physically guide a child instead of relying solely on bribes. After a few steps he turned and winked. "I saved the best for last. These were always your favorites, but there's no way to have them at home. Last stop, the cephalopods." He flung his arm wide, gesturing with a dramatic flourish.

Rachel took a few tentative steps forward and froze. The room shifted like those old suspense movies, the creatures in the tank coming into tight focus as everything else drifted away into fuzzy nothingness. Try as she might, she couldn't look away. Multiple limbs moved with definite purpose within each tank while the eyes bore into her very soul. Acid burned in her empty stomach, the heat radiating outwards. The flush crawled up her neck, her pulse pounding in her cheeks. Stars burst in her eyes then everything went grey, but a shadow of the dark shape from the tank hovered in front of her, impossibly large. A deep voice echoed within the depths of her mind, the bass rattling her bones. It was coming for _her_. The world rocked under her feet like a ship on turbulent waters. She staggered blindly, arms flailing for purchase to keep upright. John wasn't there. There was nothing but empty space. Panic curled around her in an icy embrace until everything went cold. Sharp pains shot through her knees as she collapsed, shaking. There wasn't enough air, no matter how deep she gasped, how fast she panted for breath. Menacing limbs reached out as the dark creature filled her vision. There was no escape.

Strong hands gripped her face and forced her to turn away. Someone sat so close she could feel the warmth radiating from their body, cutting through the foreboding chill.

"I'm here with you. You aren't alone." The voice was so familiar it made her heart ache. Kind brown eyes locked with hers and she held on for dear life. They were her focal point while he talked her down gently. "You're safe. I won't let anything bad happen to you, I promise." Large warm hands supported her and soothed her as the whiskey-kissed voice taught her how to breathe again, slowly guiding her back to reality.

Rachel rubbed her eyes and looked up to thank her savior. She was alone, laying on her back on an unfamiliar, vaguely uncomfortable bed. The small room was empty except for a dim light overhead and a curtain at her feet. The curtain parted.

"Good evening, Ms. Johnson." A young woman in a white coat and scrubs stopped at her side and leaned in close, her eyes locked on Rachel's forehead. "How are you feeling?"

Rachel shrugged. Her mind raced to catch up, to fill in the missing pieces.

"You seem to be through the panic attack, which is good, although you have a nasty little bump and mild concussion from where you hit your head when you fell. It'll smart for a few days, but over the counter pain pills should help." The doctor smiled and patted Rachel's hand. "You're free to go as soon as your husband returns."


	8. Chapter 8

Tensions rose between Rachel and John after the events surrounding the aquarium. It was bad enough that she woke up in an unfamiliar place after her collapse. Deep fear and doubts long-repressed came bubbling to the surface with the echoes of her first awakening three years prior. These were things she dealt with before, and would likely battle for the rest of her life. This time she was all alone, though. John was not waiting by her bedside. To make matters worse, it was over an hour after the doctor's visit and her release before John returned. They sat in an awkward silence on the way back to the hotel when Rachel decided she'd been silent long enough. The shuttle driver pretended to not listen while she prodded her spouse for details on her collapse and his whereabouts in the aftermath, and the reception was chilly. John didn't offer any explanations and grew increasingly short with each question she asked. All she was able to glean was that she collapsed and started shrieking and writhing on the floor, and someone called for an ambulance. The rest of the day had been fully planned and paid for, so he carried on without her once he was assured she would be ok. Things just devolved from there.

The night had been long and painful, but eventually they agreed to sleep on things and try anew in the morning.

Since then, the two of them had maintained an uneasy silence. By the time lunch rolled around, Rachel vowed to put the events of the previous day behind them, but John wasn't making it easy. Focused on his phone, he only paused long enough to admire the views of the two-legged variety. Feeling defeated before they'd even gotten through their meal, Rachel turned her focus to the unlimited buffet and drinks.

Hopeful a little exercise and fresh air would help, Rachel and John went down to the beach for the first time since their arrival. Hawaii really was an earthly paradise. Part of her still resented the fact that they were here instead of Vancouver, but this particular resentment faded as she looked out over the scenery. The air was fresh and fragrant, the lands impossibly green, and clear blue waters stretched as far as the eye could see.

"See, I told you Hawaii was perfect for us," John finally spoke. "Your eyes even match the grass and vines. It's like it was meant to be..." His words drifted off, his attention diverted. Two young women walked towards them, their small bikinis barely containing their tight bodies. Gravity had yet to find either of them. That seemed to be a common theme at this resort, which was why Rachel wore a long shirt over her modest swimsuit. She couldn't compete, no matter what John said. The way his head followed the young women as they passed was testament to that. His charming smile dropped when he finally turned back.

There was no point in calling him out. She was trying to avoid a fight, after all. Something else was more important, anyway. There was something needling her from the edges of her memory. "I think I've been here before…" Rachel whispered. She scanned the scenery with wide eyes. "Maybe not this exact island, but I know I've been to a place like this, at least." Every step on the beach was a little faster, a little surer. "I remember something! I actually remember something!"

Tourists baking in the sun became fewer and farther between the more they walked, the natural beauty of the island slowly replacing the manufactured luxuriance of the resort. Rocky outcrops rose from the gentle slopes and green vines encroached on the sand. Kids squealed in the distance, their happy peals of laughter a sharp contrast to John's disquiet as he shook his head.

Rachel squinted her eyes, her face twisting as she considered the possibility he may be messing with her. If so, it was incredibly unfair—downright cruel, in fact. She stared him down until his shoulders slumped under her steady gaze. He was serious. "I remember," she insisted. "Everything was so exotic. The air smelled like fresh flowers and salt and the waters were this amazing shade of blue…"

"We drove everywhere because you refused to fly. The most exotic place I ever managed to drag you was New Orleans," John explained patiently. "I guess it could be considered exotic compared to home, and maybe even fragrant, but definitely not fresh and green. And the Mississippi river and Gulf of Mexico are just muddy brown messes."

"No, I'm… I'm sure of this." Rachel stopped in her tracks and shook her head. This was the first memory so strong she was certain it wasn't a dream. There was something else, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind. She listened to the waves crash against the rocks as she waited for it to work its way forward. "Something bad happened while I was there. I don't know what, but I can't shake that feeling."

"Maybe the aliens took you there for some probing," John said suddenly, his lips twisted into a sardonic grin.

"How dare you," Rachel hissed. She spun away before he could see the tears pooling along her bottom lashes. That was a low blow, even for him.

"Oh, come on. I was just teasing," he said. "Don't be so dramatic." He grabbed her by the shoulder and tried to spin her around, but she struggled to keep her back to him. His hand squeezed tighter until she cried. "You can be such a bitch anymore. It would've been easier if you never…" his voice trailed off.

Though left unspoken, the intentions of his horrible statement were clear. "Fuck. You." she spat, hiding her pain behind anger. She stumbled towards the rocks and started to climb. The jagged edges bit into her bare feet, but she welcomed it. It gave her something to focus on.

"I'm not going to chase you," John said firmly.

"Good," she shouted over her shoulder as she scaled the cliff. Her thighs burned with exertion. The outcropping was more slippery than she anticipated, but there was no way in hell she was going to back down. John's annoyed sighs and muttered curses as she disappeared into the forest only solidified her resolve. Vines snagged her ankles and twigs and branches scraped her exposed flesh, but her pace didn't slow as she forged a path through the lush greenery. Anywhere was better than at John's side.

In less than a minute John's angry huffs were replaced by the sound of wind blowing through the leaves, his shouts drowned out by calls from the brightly colored birds as they fled her approach. The sounds of nature filled the air, but she didn't stop. She couldn't. Her mind was clear as long as she kept moving, but that would end the moment she sat still and she wasn't ready to deal with that yet.

Even the best athletes had to rest occasionally, and Rachel was no athlete. Fire burned in her lungs with each breath, but she had to keep moving. There was simply no place to stop and rest. She pushed forward on legs quivering like a newborn animal taking her first steps. It was impossible to tell how long she hiked through the untamed wilderness. The thick overgrowth kept everything in a preternatural twilight and time had a funny way of going wonky when she wasn't keeping track. Her body ached like she'd been walking for days, but her heart said she was only minutes away from John and that was not nearly far enough. No distance would be far enough.

Rachel stumbled through the overgrowth until she finally broke into a clearing with plenty of space to rest. Cool droplets sprinkled down from a large waterfall crashing over a nearby cliff. The sound was nearly deafening, too loud to even hear herself think. It was perfect. She sat on a large rock and soaked her blistered feet in the stream. The coolness eased her hot skin, but it wasn't enough. Her body begged for more. She licked her cracked lips and her tongue was like sandpaper on the tender flesh. She swallowed instinctively while she watched the fresh water splash, but there was nothing _to_ swallow. Soft parts of her mouth and throat stuck together, desperate for a drink. There was no way to tell if it was safe. A raging case of gut-rot was the last thing she needed at this point. Open wounds in the water were probably a bad idea too, but it was too late for that. It felt too good on her aching feet and anything nasty in the water already had plenty of time to make it into her bloodstream. Besides, she wasn't even sure she could move if she wanted to.

This was a fine fucking mess. She was in the middle of nowhere without food, water, or basic survival gear (not that she'd know how to use any of it). Hell, she didn't even have shoes. She'd been so angry, so hurt when she stormed off that she didn't bother to even look for any landmarks so she could find her way back even if her body managed to hold up that long.

But did she really want to go back? All that was waiting for her was a simple, boring life that she hadn't chosen to begin with. It was all someone else's decisions that she inherited, from the crappy job to the cheating husband who wished she'd died three years ago. It wasn't like she was some great contributor to society or anyone important. Nobody would really miss her.

Every muscle in Rachel's body seized up at once. She tried to breathe through clenched teeth as she slid down to the ground. Cold, unforgiving stones pressed into her backside and legs like shards of metal. The hard rock offered no comfort to her sore, dehydrated body, but that didn't matter at this point. Her bare feet were shredded so there was no way she was walking anywhere, even if her legs could support her. There was nothing left to do but enjoy the view.

"Enjoy the view…" she whispered aloud. Everything about this was familiar, from the position of her body to that very phrase. She stared forward, eyes unseeing, as she struggled to remember. It was important. She squeezed her eyes closed and let the images come to her. There were stars. They had been everywhere, as if she was nestled between them. But there was something else too, something right next to her, but she couldn't focus on it. It hurt too bad. And… she felt guilty for some reason.

Rachel opened her eyes but she couldn't see a thing. She blinked several times, conscious of the feeling of her eyelids moving, but nothing changed. Darkness surrounded her, threatened to swallow her whole. She frantically searched for her pocket, the pills within her only hope of riding this out. She reached down, but her arm didn't move. Her fingers scraped along jagged edges and each tiny movement sent a new wave of pain through her body. Every nerve was raw and exposed, her body broken.

"It's just a panic attack. You can get through this," she whispered, her voice little more than a dry croak. "Deep breaths…" Stagnant air blew back in her face with every terrified gulp, every breath faster than the previous. This wasn't going to work if she didn't regain control. Bones shifted in her chest as she inhaled slowly. Her breath hitched, her jaw clenched in pain. "This is all in your mind. Focus on the breath. That's real."

In and out. Slow and steady. The pain in her body eased until it was nothing more than mild discomfort. Each breath was easier than the one before. She opened her eyes and the world shifted as she watched, the sky brightening and the trees and flowers regaining their brilliant colors. It was like slowly waking from a dream. Or slowly falling into one.

Rachel pushed herself up to sitting once she was sure her body wouldn't fall apart in the process. She looked around, but her situation didn't look any better with fresh eyes. She was still in the middle of nowhere with no way to call for help. Not that she could tell anyone where to find her anyway. This was up to her, and she wasn't giving up. She was a survivor.

The rock behind her was the only support she would get. Rachel leaned into it and pushed as she stood, screaming along with her muscles. The sound had a strange duality—most of it echoed through the trees and undergrowth, but a small part reverberated right back into her own face like a physical manifestation of how she felt talking to John. She looked around, but there was no explanation. Something was off, and the longer she stayed here the worst it got. Her skin prickled. She had to get out of there. Bracing against the stone again, Rachel took a tentative step. Something gave way under her foot and her legs shook violently, but she tried a second one. Both legs buckled completely, sending her sprawling onto the ground. She was so close, but this was as far as she could go.


	9. Chapter 9

Rachel lay where she fell, her head cushioned by soft foliage and her lower half draped over the jagged rocks in the stream. Numbness spread along her legs, the cold mountain stream granting her that one relief. At least the pain was fading. That probably wasn't a good sign, but it didn't matter now.

How injured was she? She tried to think through a thick mental fog but only glimpses of reality peeked through. A few cuts and bruises prickled the skin along her arms and legs, her feet were mess, and she had one hell of a sunburn. She was dehydrated from all the hiking and her muscles seized up, too. As far as she knew, none of those should've been life-threatening, yet here she was.

Her heartbeat slowed as she lay still, each one a little softer than the one before, the pause between them longer. There was no fight left. She relaxed in the earthly paradise and accepted the sudden realization. Her body was simply giving up. Life ebbed from her body with each increasingly erratic beat of her heart.

For the first time in memory she wasn't scared, she wasn't stressed, she wasn't thinking of everything she'd try to change later. It had always been later. Never now. All she'd wanted was a normal, simple life, but nothing was ever simple. There was no such thing as normal. And that was ok.

Color drained from her surroundings as she watched, the world greying into complete darkness. "No, not again," she moaned. She tried to move, but her body was too broken. Even if it wasn't, she was pinned in place. Jagged rocks bit into her flesh as she wiggled, each small movement a fresh hell. Soft thuds in her chest assured her she was alive, but barely. Each beat was slow and labored, too thready to feel. They were only audible in the encompassing silence. There was no telling how long she would last.

Footfalls, steady and careful, approached. She concentrated on them. They were an anchor to the real world, one she could follow out. They grew louder, but they were also… strange. One minute the steps were careful and hard debris shifted with every footfall, the next they were soft and leaves whispered as they neared. There was no way to tell what was real, but either way they meant the same thing. Help was on the way. But how would they find her?

"Shepard!" a man shouted, his voice pained but determined. Soft flutters in her stomach cut through the pain, her body reacting on a primal level. There was a familiarity she couldn't quite place. Was it the name? The voice?

"Anybody there?" a different man called a beat later, straining over the waterfall's roar. The sky lightened as she focused on the the sounds of nature. She was free again, able to move. She rolled towards the voice. It took one second too many to realize it was the wrong direction. Water rolled over her, the current pulling her down.

The first man called out the same name again, his voice muted by the rock and debris that surrounded and encompassed her. Pain shot through her hand, her fingers growing wet and numb as she clawed, desperate to get his attention. A large chunk finally broke free, but that small glimmer of hope was instantly dashed as everything shifted. Gravel filled the spaces around her. The little air shaft collapsed, and she wasn't waking up. She wanted to cry, but there were no tears left. She was too tired, too dry.

She couldn't focus, couldn't think through the pain. It didn't matter which version was reality because she was fucked either way. Her lungs burned like hell, like someone decided to sizzle them in a frying pan without the kindness of removing them first. Her chest tried to collapse in on itself as she struggled to breathe air that was mostly dirt. Or all water. It changed every few seconds. The pressure behind her eyes was unbearable as they tried to break free. Only the rocks kept everything in place at this point. If this was dying, it hurt more than anything she survived. And she felt like she'd lived through this before. Or died from it. Anything was possible at this point, since she had no idea what the fuck was going on. The only thing certain was the fact that she was running out of air, out of time.

Buzzing filled her head until that was all she heard. Her skin crawled with the last vestiges of energy as a bright light surrounded her. This must've been what all those near-death people talked about. She turned towards the blue light ebbing and flowing as if it had a life of its own, but even that grew dark. It prickled along her skin even after she couldn't see it, so familiar but utterly foreign. Comfort washed over her and she relaxed. If this was how she was going out, at least it felt nice.

The world faded away.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Thank you to CC-2224CT-7567 for the review. It gave me a little renewal of confidence when I sorely needed it. Also, thanks to those who followed and fav'ed.

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"… _Please…_ "

That single word echoed from far away. Her body begged to let go completely, to finally be released from all the pain, but the sheer volume of agony and desperation behind the voice kept her from ignoring it.

" _Don't do this Shepard. Not now_ …"

She followed the voice back to her body, back to awareness. She was being carried in bare arms, her dead weight supported effortlessly. One moment she was hot and dry, the next she was wet and cold, but those strong arms were constant. There was an eerie silence, as if the whole universe held its breath, minus the one person quietly sobbing. Or maybe that was the waterfall splashing. She took a deep breath. The air flowed into her lungs in a greedy, audible gasp, and it burned like hell. Coughs wracked her body, trying to shake out everything she'd sucked in, but the initial pain disappeared almost immediately.

She blinked until her eyes were clear. Everything was bright and colorful once more. A large, tan man smiled down on her as he carried her effortlessly, the dark tattoos on his arms moving as his muscles flexed. Long dark curls fell over his shoulders as he shook his head.

"You gave us quite the scare Lola."

Everything shifted while name echoed in her mind. She was stuck in a dream world where nothing was constant. The bright colors were dusty and grey again, the sounds of nature replaced by the sounds of fresh ruins. The man also changed before her eyes. He was still muscular and tattooed, but his hair was now a short faux hawk. Old scars appeared across his nose and cheek, and they looked at home on his kind face. And she knew him somehow.

He leaned forward and set her down like she were a precious family heirloom that might break at any moment. Her new position was hard and unyielding. It vibrated with an odd energy and shook uncontrollably, but it was also the most comfortable she'd felt in years.

"I thought I lost you."

She focused on the face hovering inches above hers. Those amber eyes, so warm and loving despite the swelling and redness… she knew them from somewhere. But where? Dirt and grime caked in his dark hair and coated his skin, but a natural tan peeked from the lines down his cheeks washed clean by tears. Scars tugged along the edges of his lips as he whispered his love like a mantra. The base of her skull tingled and burned, then a hum began to sing somewhere deep in her. Her hair stood on end as his body answered. A beautiful harmony filled her mind while electric blue danced along both of them in wisps, protecting them from the world around.

"Kaidan?" she asked hesitantly. His beautiful smile was all the answer she needed. It all came flooding back to her in that moment. This was where she belonged. This was her reality. She leaned into the man holding her tight against his armored chest, and shook.

"I hate to interrupt…" a woman said hesitantly from somewhere nearby, her accent unmistakable. Miranda. She appeared in a flash of brilliant white and hovered closely like a personal angel, her blue eyes filled with concern. "You did the hard part, Shepard; you made it this far. We'll take it from here." After a few beeps from her Omni-tool, she made a sound deep in her throat, a mixture of surprise and awe. She shouted orders over her shoulder and there was a flurry of activity seconds later.

Fresh waves of pain washed over Shepard's body with each beat of her heart. A pitiful sound escaped her throat as another bone shifted while she breathed. Whatever had eased her suffering was wearing off. She looked back to Kaidan, his mere presence a salve that took the edge off, but his eyes were locked on the brunette next to them as she worked frantically.

"This is going to burn like hell, but it'll stabilize you until we can get to a proper facility. And if we're fast and lucky…" Miranda looked between Shepard and Kaidan.

"What… what is it?" Kaidan whispered.

" _Shepard_ should be fine," Miranda answered carefully. She looked down to Shepard and smiled reassuringly. "And don't worry, you'll sleep through it all."

There was no poke, no sign to prepare Shepard for the injection aside from Miranda's warning. And it was no lie; fire burned through her veins. She clenched her jaw until something popped as she bit back a strangled cry.

Miranda watched carefully, her eyes flickering between Shepard's face and the readout on her wrist.

Blissful numbness washed over Shepard as the fire in her veins flickered out. Her limbs were heavy, muscles relaxed. She gave herself over to the feeling, sure Kaidan would keep her safe. Miranda would keep her alive.

Miranda's eyes widened as she watched her wrist. Her sudden laugh shocked Shepard from the edge of sleep and made Kaidan jump. Tears lined her bright blue eyes when she looked back and smiled. "Both heartbeats are stable, but we need to get them to a proper medbay, stat."

Kaidan looked down at Shepard, his brow knitted, but she couldn't help. She'd shrug if she had control of her body. Her mind was a muddle of coma dreams and heavy drugs. She was every bit as confused as he was, and the edges of her vision were blurring as the injection took hold.

Miranda placed Kaidan's hand delicately on Shepard's abdomen.

The world distorted as the medicine pulled Shepard under. It was too strong and she was too tired. She couldn't fight it any longer. Kaidan's tearful smile was the last thing she saw as she drifted off, his kiss on her forehead the last thing she felt.

"I'm… I'm going to be a daddy?" he asked, his voice cracking as he laughed and cried at the same time.

His words lulled her to sleep. This is where she belonged. They would take care of her from here, so she could finally relax.

This was her normal, and it was perfect.


End file.
